


Objectively Speaking

by greenwillow



Series: Top of the Class [2]
Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, GET IT AETHELFLAED, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28002789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenwillow/pseuds/greenwillow
Summary: Aethelflaed's kink is watching Aldhelm deal with incompetence:Tease Mebut from Aldhelm's POV. Because we're dealing with Aldhelm here, the exact same scene is 1k longer.
Relationships: Aethelflaed Lady of Mercia/Aldhelm (The Last Kingdom)
Series: Top of the Class [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048940
Comments: 12
Kudos: 10





	Objectively Speaking

**Author's Note:**

> It cannot be overstated how much this <300 word kiss prompt fill has spiraled out of control.

Pyrlig’s class had begun in such a promising way. The first two students had done quite well. Interesting and well-founded arguments, visually pleasing presentations, competent public speaking skills. Even a well-placed joke or two.

Then it was Aethelred’s turn. Seconds after he opened his mouth it became clear he had no idea what he was doing. Even worse, he thought he was exceeding expectations. His confidence was only surpassed by the quantity of ill-researched claims he made—it was as if someone had crafted a paper specifically to drive Aldhelm mad. He wouldn't have been surprised to learn there was a hidden crew with cameras trained on his face, watching him wilt as he listened to this utter drivel spill from this student’s mouth.

Aethelred was the type of student that Aldhelm despised the most. He had money, status, and some amount of brains (he must, he must), and yet he refused to apply himself. That much was clear.

Aldhelm should have just called out sick that day. He could have done it. He never had, but he could. But then Pyrlig wouldn’t be free to do whatever it was he did with his wife on Fridays (rock climbing? binge drinking? tantric sex?), and class would have been cancelled, and Aldhelm could not predict what kind of chain reaction that would set off. He had no desire to find himself responsible for some unforeseen calamity in pursuit of his own comfort.

Or perhaps he ought to have sent the rest of the class home early, sparing them the misery of listening to Aethelred drone on in a manner that was somehow both repetitive and utterly devoid of substance. He could have borne it alone. It might have been preferable. As it was, Aldhelm was suffering from an intense bout of secondhand embarrassment. An embarrassment that was only magnified by Aethelred’s galling lack of shame.

At some point, Aldhelm realized his head had been in his hands for at least ten minutes (or had it been an hour?), but by that time he’d given up.

His torture finally came to an end when Aethelred clicked through to his last slide (had he misspelled “conquest?” he had…). He glanced over at Aldhelm with a sly smile, clearly expecting some type of commendation.

At a loss for words (how on EARTH was he going to assign a grade to this?), Aldhelm managed to dismiss the class with a gesture. Aethelred shrugged and sidled out of the room in pursuit of a red-headed transfer student. He did not seem to grasp the torment to which he’d subjected anyone in the room with two brain cells to rub together.

Aldhelm leaned over his desk, fingers splayed wide, staring at Aethelred’s paper. Search as he might, he could not find the merest hint of original thought to could latch onto. Why had he even taken this job? He couldn’t remember.

Students filed past him. A few wished him a good evening as if he wasn't going to be buried under paperwork the whole time. He acknowledged them with a murmur—he couldn’t expect them to know or care about his weekend workload.

He thought he was alone at last when he heard the push of a chair across the linoleum and the quiet tap of footsteps from the middle of the room. He glanced up to see Aethelflaed making her way towards him.

She was wearing her hair down, which she didn't often do, usually opting for a loose braid or a high ponytail. He liked it that way too, but the way it framed her face today was especially soft. Not that he ought to be noticing such things, but as the thought crossed his mind it was innocent enough.

“Well,” she said, folding her hands before her, “that was quite a presentation.”

He shouldn’t have replied with more than a vague comment, but he couldn't help himself. He needed to know someone shared his trauma, and if anyone did it was the top student in the class.

“God, it was awful,” he replied, unable to keep the disgust from his voice, “Definitely the worst thing I’ve seen this semester so far. Possibly the worst thing I’ve seen ever, in an academic context or not. Truly horrible.”

She was trying not to smile. It was cute, the way she pulled her mouth to one side and raised her eyebrows like that. Not cute. Not cute. It was…nice to watch. He needed to focus on something else. Fortunately, she spoke.

“In his defense, I don’t think Aethelred understands that he gets graded on his work, not his looks.”

That jogged his memory. Aldhelm was sure he hadn't imagined the two of them had dated. They’d been one of those first-year couples that appeared to spend an inordinate amount of time in the student lounge with a large group of friends, for all appearances holding court among their subjects.

He shouldn't mention it, but he did. “I actually remember seeing you two together around campus quite a bit during my fourth year.”

She wrinkled her nose. Clearly, the memory was not one by which she preferred to be known.

“We’re all allowed one mistake first year.”

He smiled. She was right. His mistake had been forgoing a social life entirely (and trying out for the rugby team—what on earth had possessed him to do that?), but her relationship with Aethelred did appear to be an anomaly.

Unlike her ex-boyfriend (is that who he had been? Aldhelm couldn’t keep up with how university relationships worked), Aethelflaed was the very definition of competent. Always five minutes early for class, always attentive, never compelled to ask useless questions or show off like some of the other intelligent but very needy students in the class.

Aldhelm remembered seeing her on the first day of Pyrlig’s course the previous term. She always secured a seat in the middle of the class. She carried what he assumed was a designer bag and usually wore a perfectly tailored blazer. She looked like just another rich girl who would do the bare minimum and expect accolades by the merit of her name and good looks (she was, objectively speaking, good looking). He had been happy to be proved wrong.

Aethelflaed engaged with the material in a consistently excellent way. When Aldhelm had the opportunity to lecture he could gauge his clarity by whether or not her eyebrows furrowed in that particular way of hers (not in the “hmmm interesting, hadn't thought about it that way” but in the “not entirely sure how you drew that conclusion” way).

He’d been perhaps a little too pleased to see her on the list for this term’s course as well. It was always nice to have reliable students around, he told himself. He wasn’t one to look at undergrads that way (despite not really being a teacher, but sort of), but if he were, he may have been tempted.

Aldhelm turned his eyes back to Aethelred’s paper, knowing that the stark reality of the task before him would cool any less than appropriate thoughts that might flit through his mind unbidden.

“I really don’t know how I’m expected to grade this,” he said, massaging his temples as he stared at the desk. “I shouldn’t speak ill of one student in front of another, but…god, it’s an undeniable travesty.”

“I know,” Aethelflaed sighed sympathetically. “He thought he did well too, that’s the worst part.”

“Unbelievable.” Aldhelm shook his head, unable to prevent the horrific memory from washing over him again. “He stated his thesis as if he was the only person ever to have used any of these words in sequence. I’m not sure he even used the proper tense throughout his presentation.”

He snatched up the paper and began to search until he found a particularly offensive passage.

“No, he didn’t!” Aldhelm buried his face in his hands yet again, unable to process the lack of effort. “He couldn't even do that one thing.”

His tone turned confessional now, though he did not know why. “He came to me for guidance last week, and I walked him through the expectations for the course, and I really thought he understood…”

“He didn’t come for guidance,” Aethelflaed spoke with the voice of one breaking bad news to a child. “He came to try and charm you. It’s worked before—not on me!” she added as he jerked his head up.

She had taken a seat on a desk opposite his, no longer maintaining the pretext that she was on her way out of the room. As she swung her legs back and forth she exposed a slip of ankle between the cuff of her pants and the top of the wool socks that peeked out from her boots.

“What on earth did you see in him, anyway?” he heard himself asking, despite his best intentions not to go there.

Her head cocked to one side, eyebrows raised in what he hoped was humor rather than offense.

“Sorry, that’s a bit presumptuous. Clearly, I don't understand women at all.”

She wrinkled her nose—in amusement, he thought, though perhaps it was distaste for one or the other of them. “I mean, isn’t it obvious?”

He pictured Aethelred in his mind—neither too tall nor too short, slight build, attractive. Rich. Well-connected. _Rich_. Handsome, undeniably.

“It’s the hair, isn’t it?” he said.

Aethelflaed’s laugh at that moment was perhaps the best sound he’d ever heard.

“That’s where I’ve gone wrong. I knew it.”

He caught her eye as he ruffled a hand through his own hair—how long had it been since he’d had it trimmed?— then compulsively checked his watch.

“Somewhere to be?” Aethelflaed asked. She was applying chapstick now, in quite a nonchalant way, yet he couldn't help but notice the way her lips pursed just slightly. He shouldn’t, but then she was smiling back at him, and he was hard-pressed to remember the question she’d just asked.

“Nowhere to be,” he heard himself stuttering. “Just trying to decide if it’s appropriate for me to begin drinking before I attempt to grade Aethelred’s paper.”

She snapped the lid back on the tube of chapstick. “If ever there’s a time to make an exception…”

“I believe you’re right.”

Then another thought struck him. “I don’t think he mentioned Hardrada even once.”

“Are you sure?” Aethelflaed asked, springing up from her seat and making her way behind his desk to get a look at the paper right side up. “I could have sworn I heard him say something about Stamford Bridge at one point.”

Aldhelm ripped out the staple to spread the papers on the table. They weren't numbered, and the argument was so faulty that apart from the first and last pages he had no idea if they were even in order.

“It’s only fifteen pages. I think he’s made the font larger, too—that looks like size 14. That means it’s probably thirteen and a half pages in actuality.”

Incredibly, his analysis of font size did not spur her to remember some other engagement for which she was late.

“Hardrada’s not mentioned here at all,” he concluded, re-forming the stack to hand it over as if the final decision was up to her. “He completely bungled the assignment. Unbelievable.”

“It can’t be the worst paper you’ve ever received,” Aethelflaed shrugged, glancing down at the pages before handing them back. “Aethelwold was in Pyrlig’s class with us last semester.”

“Yes, but somehow even Aethelwold managed to complete the assignments in a baseline competent way. I’m pretty sure he was paying someone to do them for him, but investigating that was above my pay grade.”

He leaned against the desk and crossed his arms, watching as she dipped one shoulder to brush her hair behind her. At least he would never have to worry about her putting him through the wringer like that. Not that they were likely to interact much after this term.

“You’re up next week. Did you find today’s slate of talent completely soul-crushing, or does it not matter since you’ve already finished?”

“Finished last night,” she replied with that quietly confident smile of hers, “in case you needed someone to go early.”

Of course she had. She was the very definition of prepared, and he expected nothing less in the short time he’d known her as a student.

It had occurred to him as strange, however, that she had taken this particular course. Professor Odda taught a course that would fulfill the same requirement for her law degree (how he had absorbed that information he wasn’t sure). Odda, not Pyrlig, was usually the choice of the more ambitious student.

“Why are you in this class anyway? I would have thought you’d prefer Odda.”

“I liked Pyrlig last semester,” she answered casually, slipping a hand into her pocket.

He couldn’t complain. Despite not expecting to see her back, it had of course been a pleasant surprise.

“I remember your paper on coinage in Roman Britain,” he admitted. “It was very well researched.”

Her mouth twitched with restrained humor. “Unlike Aethelred, I am familiar with the inside of a library.”

“I do wonder what he would do if I approached him with a sheet of microfiche.”

“Probably ask you what was wrong with your credit card.”

He couldn’t help but laugh now. She was funny, too. It really wasn’t fair.

The lights in the hallway flicked off. It had apparently been fifteen minutes since anyone had passed by. The natural light from the high windows softened Aethelflaed’s face, barely illuminating the sparkle of her eyes, the few stray hairs out of place. Unlike (he suspected) some of the other TAs on campus, Aldhelm hadn’t expected to be in quite this position ever, with any student, but with Aethelflaed especially. He had better end this before his thoughts became untoward.

“I suppose I should let you begin your evening,” he said reluctantly. “I was never invited to many campus parties as an undergrad, but I suspect your social life may be somewhat more vibrant.”

He seemed to have forgotten what to do with his hands, possibly having something to do with her proximity. He reminded himself he ought to gather the other student papers.

She was moving closer, sliding her fingers along the desk before her.

Glancing over, he was sure he was misreading the situation. She could not be looking at him with such interest, such…intent? Delight?

If he had been thinking clearly by the time she laid her hand atop his, he would have been sure his expression was completely ridiculous. As it was, her mind was blank except for her.

She tipped her head slightly, rose up on her toes, and kissed him. Instinctively he tensed, not from any lack of pleasure—it was merely the shock.

He overcame that quickly, as his second instinct, his truer instinct, was to pull her closer to him.

The kiss was soft and sweet—he could taste the vague coconut of her lip balm—and the way she inserted just the tip of her tongue into his mouth sent a warm thrill down his spine.

She tugged on the collar of his shirt, and he realized his hand was on her back as she hopped onto the table and wrapped her legs around him. If it had been practical, he would have stayed there forever.

He broke away to press a kiss to her neck, catching his breath and breathing her in at once. She was pulling his earlobe gently between her teeth—he would not have expected that. He would not have expected any of this.

She pulled back and he realized he must be staring quite intensely. What else was one to do, really? Her own eyes were slightly crinkled at the corners, her expression both satisfied and playful.

He couldn't resist ducking back in for another kiss and overshot slightly. She laughed—an even more musical sound than before—and he did too.

His face was resting in the curve of her neck, he could feel her breath on his ear. “We’re very lucky no one likes to hold night classes in the basement,” he murmured, amazed they had gone so long without being disturbed.

He appeared to have jinxed them. A loud noise from the direction of the stairwell caused him to jump back, his hands lingering on her thighs as long as he could possibly get away with.

He snapped his collar back into shape, then snuck a glance towards the door—it appeared they were safe, for the moment—before looking back at her.

The color had heightened in her cheeks, but otherwise, she was completely composed. He also felt surprisingly calm, all things considered.

“I suppose I ought to state that even if you weren't top in the class this would not make you eligible for extra credit,” he was compelled to state, beginning to pack up his things again.

She barked a laugh and slipped off the table to pick up her bag with one fluid movement.

“I’m not sure this is strictly allowed,” he said as she continued to survey him coolly. “In fact, I’m fairly certain it’s explicitly forbidden.”

He slid the strap of his satchel over his head and picked up the stack of books for his dissertation. It was, he now realized, a completely unreasonable amount of books to have checked out of the library at once.

Aethelflaed shrugged and fell back to rest against the desk, fingers wrapped over the edge. “It might be forbidden,” she countered smoothly, “But explicit seems a bit strong.”

“Oh?”

She drew her lower lip between her teeth just slightly—that was going be a problem for him—and nodded.

“I admit,” he replied, “I don’t know the faculty manual by heart.”

“You can trust my memory,” she said evenly. “I am, after all, top in the class.”

He could not help but smile at that.

“I know a place we can get a drink,” she continued, sliding her hands into her back pockets so her torso flexed forward slightly, the top of her cleavage just visible between the lapels of her jacket.

He ran his tongue over his teeth and glanced up towards the drop ceiling, willing himself the strength to make the right choice in the moment. There was a water spot on one of the tiles towards the back—he would have to remember to tell maintenance about that.

“I’m afraid I’m well known at all four bars within walking distance of campus,” he said, hoping his tone was sufficiently apologetic. God knows he didn’t want to say no.

“So am I. I’m not talking about a bar.”

His last remaining excuse, flimsy as it was, vanished into thin air. He cleared his throat, watching her size him up. Aethelflaed was not one to accept defeat easily.

She pulled her keys out of her bag without breaking eye contact, slipping her fingers between the patent leather strap of her keychain.

“My flat’s on Gloucester, a stone’s throw away. Number 3. Walk over with me, or follow and give me a ring and I’ll let you up. If you want.”

Despite that addition sounding like an open-ended invitation, it had the feel of a command. She breezed past him, and rather than breaking the gravitational pull between them that merely extended it. Her fingers lingered on the doorknob and she turned back towards him. The lights in the hallway flickered on, casting a fluorescent glow over the cascade of brown hair down her back.

“Anyway,” Aethelflaed said, her face alight with mischief, “you can’t walk home carrying all those books like that, you look ridiculous. At least let me lend you a bag.”

He huffed a laugh and watched her go, frozen in place for a millisecond before he followed, managing to balance his stack of books while closing the door behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed you can reblog the photoset and playlist [here.](https://aadmelioraa.tumblr.com/post/637215683072131072/modern-au-college-au-teacher-student)
> 
> I have more installments planned for this series, ratings will vary but hopefully there will be a little bit of something for everyone (fluff, smut, angst, general shenanigans). I'm not planning to write complimentary POV pieces for each addition, but if that's something you want let me know!


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